Bus Report #472
Friday night - The Halloween revelers were already out in force. Strange, but in this city it is so hard to tell who is in costume and who is in their everyday wear. Was the guy in the BERKELEY sweatshirt a Berkeley student, or was he dressed up as one? Was the harried-looking tranny just on her way home from a tough day at work, or was she really just a man in a dress and messy wig? We'll never know.
This morning - The time change makes it sunny when I leave the house and I am not used to it, yet. My 38L was full. Everyone was quiet, either staring off into space or fiddling with an igadget. The woman sitting next to me drank hot tea out of a jam jar. The woman across from me lost her grip on her hot pink travel mug and it fell on the floor and rolled to my feet. I picked it up and handed it back to her, and she nodded at me in thanks.
At Fillmore I waited with a guy wearing a White Glove Services T-shirt, and I wondered what kind of high-end furniture he would be moving today. We got on the 22 and I sat alone, up against the window. After a while, the bus filled up with teenagers on their way to Mission High.
The kid sitting in front of me has always been a curiosity to me. He acts like he's crazy half the time, talking to himself, laughing for no reason, and the other half of the time he is making eyes at the girls. He actually bats his eyes at them and presses his lips together, and they seem to like it. He told my seatmate, another teenager, about a conversation he had with his toddler son.
For the past two days, the same woman has been getting out at Dolores. She has the same metallic blue hot cup from a cafe in Austin, TX that I do. Seeing someone else clutching that cup jolted me, and when I got to work yesterday I immediately checked to see if the cup was still in my drawer. It was. What an odd coincidence. The cup was a gift from a friend who used to live in Austin, and I have never been in the cafe before.
In front of the Roxie a youngish man with great, thick curly hair readjusted his duffel bag and when he did, his T-shirt rode up exposing his back tattoo. I didn't get a good look but it was small, with fine black lines. It looked good against his milky-coffee-colored skin.
Valencia Street is still all torn up. In the window at Abandoned Planet Books, the lights twinkled like the stars I rarely see in my neighborhood.